How the Dragon Stole Christmas
by Isefyr
Summary: Draco is a wealthy socialite by day, and a cat-burglar by night. Hermione is a determined detective, doing her best to bring down the notorious thief known only as 'The Dragon'. When a charity which provides toys for needy children decides to raise money by auctioning off a beautiful necklace, Draco has his next target... if Hermione doesn't catch him first! Cat-burglar AU.
1. Introduction

_**Intro**_

Draco tested the harness around his torso, pulling on the ropes with cold fingers. Even through the gloves, the chill of the night air was starting to seep through the leather, and he mumbled a curse word as he rubbed his hands together to try to warm them up. He needed his hands limber if he was going to pull this off, though the odds that his fingers were going to warm up by then were slimmer than a wallet after Christmas shopping. Still, he'd manage it – he always did.

Triple-checking the chimney that the end of his tether was wrapped around, Draco eyed his watch and nodded decisively, once. It was time. "Let's get this show on the road," he said to nobody, then walked to the edge of the roof and somersaulted gracefully off.

The somersault was more of a flourish than anything. Burglary jobs were becoming less and less of a challenge, honestly, and Draco had been considering a career change. The rush was waning, the payoffs were only so large, and the investigators were so inept that he wasn't even really afraid of being caught any more. Honestly, you'd think that the Scotland Yard would have at least _one_ competent detective, but that wasn't the case.

He pondered this as he flew through the air, only for the rope to jerk, cutting his momentum off. It tightened on the edge of the roof, swinging Draco towards the window, and he braced himself as the soft soles of his boots slammed into the window frame. Giving himself some more slack, Draco lowered himself to the latch – a basic lock which he had open in a matter of seconds. And, just like that, he was in.

It was rather considerate of the owners of this particular residence to keep all of their jewelry in one safe, Draco mused as he crossed cat-footed across the bedroom floor toward the painting that concealed a wall safe. Really, how cliché could you get? The combination was child's play (if one were a larcenous child) and Draco was elbow deep in the safe when he heard a noise from downstairs. He froze, then heard the sound again – feedback from a radio, if he wasn't mistaken. The thought made him grin, and he deftly emptied the safe into his backpack. Usually he'd stop to sort out the paste pieces from the real gems, but though Draco liked a challenge, he _also_ liked not being caught by the police.

Deftly sneaking back through the bedroom to the window, Draco was considering his escape route when the light flicked on behind him. A low, musical female voice demanded "Stop right there", and Draco obliged, turning to see who thought they were going to stop the Dragon from hoarding his treasure.

It was a short, rather curvy woman with a magnificent frizz of hair and – a gun, pointed straight at Draco. Or, rather, Draco's knee. A magnificent choice, if you'd asked him… a smart play. Either he'd get knocked out the window or have a rather difficult time of it when trying to escape. Once he'd ascertained how long he would have to get out of the way of a flying bullet, Draco _really_ looked at the woman, from the firm set of her mouth to her deep brown eyes. He grinned behind his mask and gave an elegant bow to her, swaying slightly in the cold wind coming from the open window.

"Good evening, Officer," he purred, resulting on the woman's eyebrow jumping up her face. "How clever of you to watch the house. Have you been waiting long?"

"Come off of the windowsill, thief," she said firmly, her stance immovable.

"I think not," Draco drawled, cocking his head at her. "After all, I have a pressing engagement. So you'll forgive me if I just _pop out?_ "

The woman's eyebrow climbed higher, and Draco heard more officers behind her, coming to back her up. "In the bedroom," she called, pinning Draco in place with her gaze, but Draco wasn't going to wait to be hauled away by the entire police force, thank you very much.

"My favourite place," he chuckled. "But, unfortunately, I cannot prolong our rendezvous. Another time, perhaps," he added, giving another bow, and stepping off the ledge, clipping his harness to the dangling tether as he did so. He twirled out of range of the window, hearing her low curse, and began to haul himself up the rope to the roof posthaste.

There was a smile under the mask. Ah, Draco loved a challenge. Perhaps, he mused as he somersaulted away over the rooftop to the sound of sirens, he would be seeing the lovely officer again.

…

Back at home in his luxurious penthouse, Draco straightened the impeccable cuffs of his shirt, mind not on the luncheon he was supposed to be attending for some charitable society or another but on the pursed lips of the female officer who'd actually cornered him on a job. That, recently, had become a feat in itself, and Draco was interested in seeing more of the woman … _if_ it hadn't just been luck.

Charitable functions were good for one thing (among many, he was sure), and that was scouting out the lovely, expensive jewels that many of the women would be airing, each trying to outdo the other like glittering birds. Draco reminded himself to be patient, as he tried not to do more than one job per two weeks – more than that and he'd get sloppy, not do enough research, and then he'd get caught. Still, the sparkling gems were so very tempting…

He glanced towards his own safe, which was sunk into the floor and covered with a locking panel and an artfully thrown rug. He only kept the best pieces, even though it was incriminating – he couldn't resist. Perhaps one day he would sell them, but it would have to be a dire day indeed.

Pulling his suit jacket on over his shirt, Draco checked himself over once more before smiling at himself in the mirror. Off to the mundane workings of high society, he mused. Oh, how he preferred his night job.

As it turned out, however, _this_ charity event turned out to be very, _very_ worthwhile.

When Draco entered the room, letting his coat and hat be taken by some peon and waiting for his name to be found on the register, he was instantly transfixed by a large pedestal sitting in the center of the room. It was cordoned off by velvet ropes the colour of wine, and set directly under soft, glowing light. Based on the cloth draped over the pedestal, Draco could guess at what was under it, and he was suddenly _so_ glad that he had come.

He mingled, as he always did – the charming flirt, catch of the century that nobody had managed to pin down. Draco was very aware of what a catch he was, the sole heir of a family which claimed to trace its roots back to Nordic royalty. However, he was also very uninterested in being tied down, let alone having to cease his nighttime wanderings. The Dragon was only getting started with the English upper class, after all.

Draco counted, eyes sliding over them as if he didn't notice them at all, at least 6 different security persons. His anticipation was mounting, until finally, _finally_ , the group of chattering socialites was called to attention by the individual running the charity – something for children involving Christmas. He couldn't be bothered to remember, as his focus was solely on the pedestal and the treasures it was currently supporting.

"Ladies and gentlemen," called the organizer, whose hand Draco had shaken not minutes before. "This holiday season we are doing something rather special for our fundraiser. The pedestal behind me holds a priceless treasure, one that has taken an entire year to craft to perfection. Behold," she called, and reached out for the cloth, pulling it away with a smooth, practiced gesture.

On the pedestal was a necklace, but not just any necklace. Shaped like a snake that would coil around the wearer's throat, in its mouth was a massive emerald, diamond fangs holding it in place. Draco's hands absently drew the contours of the necklace, sure as everyone else in the room – he _wanted_ it. The paltry jewelry that the other attendees were sporting paled in comparison.

"In three weeks' time," the organizer called over the sudden, excited murmurs from the crowd, "We will have an auction for this magnificent piece. Other contributions are welcome, of course…" her voice faded into obscurity. Draco heard nothing as he stared at the necklace, hands tightening on the rope, long fingers locked against the urge to reach out and grab it right there.

 _It's mine_ , Draco thought with certainty, and he could have sworn that the snake winked at him as he made his decision.

…

 **A/N:**

 **Welcome to my holiday-cat burglar-dramione AU! Just to clear things up for those of you who are going** _ **what the heck**_ **, they're both non-magical people who live and work in London. Well,** _ **Hermione**_ **works – Draco is a socialite by day and a cat burglar by night.**

 **I should be able to update every day (fingers crossed)!**

 **I hope you enjoy this mishmash of stories, characters, and various cute clichés.**

 **Happy holidays, all!**

 **Isefyr**


	2. Cinnamon

_**1**_

The first step, of course, to any successful endeavor of thievery, was to (as the laymen called it) case the joint.

Draco, as one of the top contributors of Something Something For Children, had ample excuses and opportunities to view the necklace. And view he did, often and eagerly, fingers itching to touch the diamond scales of the snake.

It was being displayed in the daytime, of course, but not at night. When the building it was in closed to the public, the necklace was carried away. It was like clockwork – Draco would conceal himself in an air duct or a closet, and then watch as the necklace moved to a predictably secure area somewhere in the back. And in the morning, before opening, it was carried out again. Thus, he had two obvious options – take it when it was in the safe, or take it en route.

Either would need practice and planning, and a lot deeper knowledge of how their security worked. Draco made and re-made checklists in his head, checked over his gear, and blustered about the charity (in disguise), questioning whether 'his necklace was in good hands'.

He couldn't be in the building all the time, however, as that could raise suspicion – he wasn't _that_ interested in children. Thus, Draco was taking a break one morning at his favourite coffee shop – surprisingly, a cozy café/bookshop midtown rather than a posh coffee bar – when he had his second encounter with the determined police officer.

Except this time, he was Draco Malfoy, not The Dragon.

The lovely woman swept up to the counter, dressed professionally in a suit with comfortable wedges and her frizzy hair only slightly tamed in a bun that was fraying and straining at the edges. Draco liked those edges, wondering what they felt like and if they were a better representation of her personality than the crisp, clean and restrained lines of her suit. Perhaps it was her hair, curling in the sunlight, which made him saunter up to the counter behind her and order another coffee. Perhaps it was that also which prompted him to lean casually on the counter and drawl to her, "Do you put sugar in your coffee?" as he read the name that the barista was currently scrawling on her cup. _Hermione_.

"Excuse me?" she said, turning to survey Draco with a practiced eye. Her roving gaze didn't flatter him, though he wanted to be flattered – her examination was clinical, deducing things about Draco. Perhaps that he was a pianist, or that the light calluses on his hands indicated consistent exercise but his build was more of a runner. He didn't see 'This is the Dragon" in her eyes, though. After all, they'd only met once. "Are you going to tell me that I don't need it because I'm too sweet?" she continued, eyebrow arching off her face. Draco grinned.

"I was going to ask if you wanted me to pass you the sugar, love," he purred, "But now that you mention it, you seem a bit…. _Spicier_." It was, perhaps, a terrible line, but it did make one corner of her mouth quirk upwards (the eyebrow stayed where it was) and Draco counted it as a success.

She turned to receive her coffee, and replied, "Try again with a line that has more _flavor_ ," and offered a hand to Draco to shake. He would have kissed it, drawing his lips across her knuckles in a way to make her breath hitch and knees go weak, but something in her face said _try me_ , and so he shook it firmly instead, palm warm against hers. "Hermione," she said, to his "Draco." They exchanged lopsided grins, and then Hermione walked out of the shop, turning left towards, presumably, the station at which she worked.

As she left, Draco murmured a response to the unarticulated challenge in her gaze. "I will," he said, receiving his (2 sugar, 3 cream) coffee with renewed intrigue.

…

He wasn't planning on walking into this heist blind. After obtaining the information about what safe that the charity was currently using (the 'concerned investor' route was really working wonders), Draco decided to visit family whose massive house neighbored his family estate… who he happened to know for a fact used the same safe. He was a great friend to the occupants, having grown up with them and probably dated both daughters, as well as having gone to both of said daughters' weddings. Really, he could probably waltz into their home at any time without being questioned.

For this kind of visit, however, he wouldn't be using the front door.

Draco took extra care to pad his shoulders and chest, add kohl around his eyes, and ensure that the mask across the lower half of his face was covered in a dragon pattern that effectively obscured any features like high cheekbones or a sharp chin. He wasn't going to be caught so early in the game, after all, and the weight from a little extra padding wasn't going to kill him.

Finally, around 2 in the morning, Draco made his way to the mansion, suit and all. The outer walls and gate were child's play, as was bypassing the security cameras on the back door. He scaled the climbing vine that conveniently wreathed both of the girls' previous bedroom windows, and it was the work of a moment to disable the alarm on one and slip into the darkened room.

Ah, memories. He gave a large smirk at the sight of the bed, now draped in cloth to keep off the dust, and the smirk stayed in place as he closed the window behind him and stole into the darkened hallway, as familiar with the layout as he was with every line from _Robin Hood_. The twists and turns to the study were easily traversed, and Draco slipped inside only to be met with another figure in the dark.

Well! The butler, apparently, had the same idea as Draco. Except the butler wasn't at the safe… He was merely stealing loose money from the desk. Plebe. They froze, eyeing one another, and Draco raised a wicked eyebrow (also darkened by kohl) and put a finger to his lips.

The butler ran, after swiping a note or two, and Draco locked the door after him before hurrying to the safe – it appeared that he would have to do this under pressure, as the butler (after collecting himself) would surely tattle. Kneeling by the safe, he ran his gloved hands over it appreciatively, and then set to work.

The combination took more work than he was used to, especially when he was on the clock. Draco listened intently, feeling and listening for the telltale clicks, breathing calmly to keep the sounds of his heart out of his ears. He'd gotten the first two numbers certain when he heard the sounds of a car pulling up, which almost positively belonged to the police.

Well. Generously, Draco mused, he'd give 1 minute for them to enter the house, 1 for the butler to explain and bring them here.

He wavered on the last two numbers and decided on '37', dialing in the combination and hoping that the glass plate inside the door didn't crack. What must have been sheer luck pulled him through, however, and the safe swung open wide. _1 minute_. He snatched the only thing he wanted – the heart-shaped sapphire that one of the girls had once promised him – along with one or two items to throw the police off. _30 seconds_. He hurried to the window, and then paused. Would he see the lovely detective again, if he stayed?

The door burst open, two cops rolling in with harsh shouts of "FREEZE!" and "HANDS UP!"

Neither of them were Hermione. Hope had been a waste of his precious seconds, and cost him. Draco glanced between the two, who were aiming their guns at his _head_ , and casually said, "You should probably check out the butler. His lack of familial loyalty is quite distressing."

The officers paused, confused, and Draco tsked in a matronly manner before jumping into the night.

...

Disappointing, Draco thought, was one word for last night's sad attempt at a burglary. Also sloppy… weak… and totally unacceptable.

He'd waited by the window, allowed himself to be seen more than once, and had only opened the safe by sheer luck. He almost didn't want the spoils any more, as their sparkling facets only served to remind him of his failure. If he was going to steal that necklace, he was going to have to be more prepared, or else not only would he lose his prize but also quite possibly his freedom. Draco quite liked his freedom, and his hair products, and private shower, and as such he was _rather_ against being caught. That was for amateurs, like the family butler.

Only his knowledge of the family grounds had kept him from being caught, as he sprinted into the trees and waited out the cops in their branches. Finally, hours later, he had returned to his flat – cold, damp, and displeased.

It was not a theft worthy of the Dragon.

Still, his haul had to be cleaned and hidden, and then a short nap taken before, presumably, someone would contact him with the news. Draco awoke to a gentle knock on his door and just had time to arrange his hair into attractive disarray and pull on a silk, open-necked dressing gown before he let the frenetic woman into his apartment.

Amusingly, she was the daughter whose bedroom window he'd climbed into just hours before, and it was that thought that had Draco smiling gently throughout her excited and worried chatter, even though the heist had been such a failure in his eyes.

…

Finally, he managed to usher the chattering woman from his penthouse and dress. He wasn't sure if it was the feeling of failure that had settled in his breastbone or the desire to cross swords with someone of intelligence, but he headed back to his favourite coffee shop, drawn by a lure he couldn't quite name. His luck, apparently, held. When he entered, Hermione was seated by the window, gesturing with an empty coffee cup as she talked angrily on a slim, nondescript cell phone, though her eyes cut to him as he walked in. Draco, pleased, went to the counter and ordered her usual with a twist of cinnamon, as well as a chai latte for himself.

Carrying the two drinks to her table, Draco slid in across from Hermione to hear, "You have to do better than that. I want a psych profile on this guy. You just thought he outed the butler from the kindness of his heart?" She listened to a length explanation, frowning deeply, then ordered, "Psych profile. Now." And snapped her phone shut before her still-stormy gaze met Draco's.

"Have another line for me today?" she bit sarcastically, though her small fingers reached for the coffee cup just the same. Draco handed it over, allowing a smile to twitch to his lips, and made a 'hmm' noise low in his throat as she continued, "Something about falling from heaven, or being hot, or something _else_?"

The stress on 'something else' made his smile grow, and he put his mug down on the table, leaning in. "Do you ever feel bored?"

 _That_ was not what she was expecting, and Hermione paused, cup halfway to her lips, brown eyes locked with Draco's. He jerked his chin at the cup, and added, "That people don't see the bigger picture, that there is _so much_ you can see in the world if only you look? That people see what they want to see? That nobody to be _challenged_?"

Hermione took a sip of the coffee, eyebrows rising once more at the taste of the cinnamon mixed into her usual drink, but he saw appreciation in her gaze, and interest. Draco smiled, hungrily, and leaned in a little more. "I bet," he purred, "I can give you a challenge."

He waited, eyes locked on the woman, as she considered what he'd said. If he'd misjudged her – if she was ordinary – he'd go. But if she wasn't…

Hermione smiled, slowly and imperiously with her bright red lips, around the rim of her coffee cup. She pinned him in place with her stare, and murmured, "You have thirty seconds to convince me that you're a challenge."

Draco grinned.

"Twenty."

…

 **A/N:**

 **I actually posted two days in a row! A miracle!**

 **It may be obvious to some that I know little about security. And heists, etc. Still, I hope the plot is enjoyable, and I'm hoping to write more Dramione banter soon!**

 **HAPPY HOLIDAYS!**

 **Isefyr**


	3. Crowns

_**2**_

Having made the promise that he was _interesting_ to Hermione, Draco now had a self-professed twenty seconds to live up to it. Smiling with wicked amusement, Draco pulled a napkin towards him as Hermione sipped her coffee, drawing a pen out of his pocket and quickly sketching a puzzle on it, then turned the napkin over and met her eyes once more.

"Find me when you solve it," he purred, challenge clear in his voice, and Hermione scoffed.

"I'm supposed to be impressed by a _maze_?" she said, and made to turn her back on him, flipping her curly hair over one shoulder. Draco, however, was unperturbed, and tapped the napkin with a fingernail as his smile grew. "Come now," he chuckled, "A detective such as yourself doesn't think she can work out the answer?"

5…4…3…2…

Hermione turned back, obviously not wanting to give in, but her eyes fixated on the puzzle, on Draco's hands, as if wondering what was hidden beneath. Draco's smile grew even more.

"Always a pleasure," he purred, sliding from his seat and giving Hermione a bow. "I hope to hear from you soon."

Sauntering from the shop, Draco gave one last glance back at Hermione. She had her eyes narrowed at him through the window, as if trying to work something out. Draco gave her a cocky little wave and strolled away, very close to whistling a tune.

…

Though Draco perhaps gave off the air and appearance of being a wealthy socialite, with nothing to do all day but look fashionable and lounge around eating bon-bons, the reality was quite the opposite. His other life consumed him, filling both the waking and sleeping hours in a delicious manner that bordered on obsessive.

Having learned that he needed to practice more upon the safe that they were using, Draco decided that he needed to test _everything_. Approaching buildings, dealing with security (video, guards, alarms – _anything_ ), unlocking safes, planning escape routes, dealing with unexpected circumstances. He'd gotten sloppy in the last month – his thefts had been too simple, too easy. He hadn't built his name on _easy_ heists, and now he had to remember to go back to the basics, to be vigilant, to be careful and not cocky.

Thus, he applied himself to his 'research' with the enthusiasm of a student cramming for finals, though rather more calmly. He 'tested' three more safes, all of the same make, interspersing them with various others to keep any enterprising officers off his trail.

He didn't encounter Hermione on a job until his fourth safe, which _was_ the same make and model as the one that housed his coveted necklace. He'd been meticulous about planning his exit and entry routes, and wanting to see how long it took him to crack the safe, he'd brought a stopwatch. Draco hadn't expected to see anyone, but once he finally opened the safe (his time was getting better, but it wasn't good enough), some kind of catch underneath the custom tiara inside (honestly, who commissioned _tiaras_?) had sent out a covert signal to the nearest police department. Draco had managed to settle his backpack on his shoulders and was halfway out the window when Hermione appeared in the doorway again, giving him a major sense of déjà vu.

"We have to stop meeting like this," he purred with the deepest amusement, heart dancing in his chest as she pulled a gun on him once more. Casually seated on the sill, one leg dangling over the edge, Draco could have been relaxing and reading a book. His posture conveyed utter carelessness, and his head was lolling at an angle that the most insouciant flirts could only hope to achieve. "I might begin to think you're interested in me."

"I'm more interested in what you have between your shoulder blades," Hermione said blandly, brown eyes pinning Draco in the chest as if she could see right through him to the gems beyond. He lifted an elegant hand, twirling the stopwatch between his fingers, and watched her eyes move to it before drawling, "A spine?"

The eyebrow lifted in a manner that was becoming increasingly familiar to Draco. "Well, you _might_ break it if you fell out the window," Hermione considered as she took a step into the room, an officer who Draco didn't care to take note of (beyond the sleek ponytail of red hair and matching red lips) behind her. "What a _pity_ that would be."

"Hermione, why are you talking to this thief?" demanded the redhead. "Get off the window ledge, scum!"

"So harsh," Draco said, pressing a hand to his chest as if wounded. "I'm hurt. But, if you insist," he said, standing to balance on the windowsill, "I suppose I will have to exchange barbs with you another time."

Draco bowed to both women, ignoring the redhead's cry of 'freeze!' (along with a rather impolite word), and stepped backwards off the ledge, allowing his body to fall until he hit the padded balcony below. A head of curly brown hair poked out the window posthaste, but Draco was already long gone - tiara and all.

…

He looked good in a crown, Draco mused as he toyed with the stolen tiara, which was now artfully arranged on his hair, at a rakish, carless angle that complimented the half-open silk dressing gown and lounge pants he'd changed into. Perhaps, one day, he'd try his hand at the crown jewels – just to try them on. Pondering this idea, Draco padded to his television, still wearing the tiara, and flicked it on to see if he'd made the news.

He had – and so, it appeared, had Hermione. 'Detective Granger' scrolled across the screen as her intent face peered out at him, and he turned the volume up to her.

" _It is clear to me that the recent rash of thefts is the work of one man, which the many may know by the moniker 'The Dragon'. Though it as of yet undetermined why he has increased the pacing of his acts of larceny, we do have some leads."_

Draco cocked his head, intrigued, and murmured "do go on," to the television.

" _The Dragon appears to be targeting wealthy households and has a preference for a specific type of safe. If you fall into this category, you may want to ramp up your security, as he may be targeting them for a specific reason. If you are concerned, please call your local station for more details and suggestions on how to protect your valuables."_

Hermione turned the microphone over to someone else, and Draco turned off the television, pondering this new development. He should have been frustrated that Hermione seemed to have discovered part of his plan, but he wasn't. He was merely intrigued.

"Well done," he settled on telling the dark screen, hand going up to his tiara without thought. She might be good at her job, Draco mused as he headed to bed, but he was better.

In fact, he rather looked forward to challenging her again.

…

Returning to the coffee shop once more, hope an unacknowledged weight in his throat, Draco headed up to the counter to order something spontaneous, then settled in by the window, exactly across from where Hermione had been last time. Absorbed in the newspaper account of his recent rash of thefts, Draco looked up as his name was called and went to collect his coffee.

To his amusement, the sleeve on the coffee cup had been defaced – not with a misspelling of his name, but with the puzzle he had presented Hermione on their last meeting… solved.

Grin curling up his lips, Draco lifted his gaze across the café to see Hermione, seated on a tall stool, with a faint smile on her lips that reminded Draco of the cat who'd gotten the canary. Accepting his coffee, he sauntered over to her, nearly burning his tongue in the process.

"Too easy for you?" he questioned, sliding onto a seat next to her with ease. Hermione made a dismissive noise, but her face was anything but – it was intent, gaze fixated on his face as if there were answers to be found there. Draco grinned into his coffee cup and leaned in. "Do you need more of a challenge?" he whispered, breath ghosting across the space between them, and Hermione pursed her lips.

"I think it's my turn to challenge you," she remarked, nails tapping on the lid of her own drink. Today they were unmanicured, practical, though her lips were still painted a brilliant red. " _If_ you think you can handle it."

Delighted with this turn of events, Draco hummed a noise of acquiescence, raising an eyebrow expectantly. Hermione let out a huff of air and held out one hand, expectantly. It took Draco a moment to realize that she wanted his hand, and he slid his palm over hers intimately, letting skin glide across skin at a glacial pace. She showed no sign of being affected, merely turned his hand over and pulled a pen out of her hair to write a series of numbers on his palm with no clear spacing or order.

"Decrypt this," she told him, folding his fingers over the string of numbers, "And maybe you'll be worth my time."

Hermione then stood to go, taking her coffee with her. Draco cocked an eyebrow, keeping his hand as she'd left it: palm up, fingers curled over. "It's not your phone number, is it?" he called, but Hermione gave him no response other than a backwards wave and a decided sway to her walk. Draco growled low in his throat, not angry but almost appreciative, possessive.

Worth her time, indeed.

…

Just to tweak Hermione's tail, Draco did the final 'safe test' the very same night. It was ridiculously easy, despite the warning that Hermione had given… but then, people always thought that things would happen to "someone else". He'd picked the _three_ locks, and sauntered in the front door, making his way to the safe with the practiced ease of someone walking to the grocery store.

He even broke his record for time.

However, this time, Hermione didn't catch him in the act of escaping – no, Draco was long gone. There were only so many times he could fall out of windows, after all. No, this time Draco had left Hermione a message; six words that he'd typed out and printed for free at a local library.

 _Catch me if you can, Detective._

…

 **A/N:**

 **This is supposed to be my Boxing Day update, though it's past midnight for me as I post this. Oh well. It still happened! Hopefully the story still interests you. It may seem like slow build up, but I promise exciting things in the future!**

 **Cheers,**

 **Isefyr**


	4. Check

_**3**_

It was a safe serial number.

It was _the_ safe serial number.

Draco laughed low in his throat as he lay on his bed, covers spread in a tangled mess underneath him. The ink still remained on his palm – the instrument that kept the necklace from him imprinted on his skin. More important were its implications: the real question and challenge that Hermione was presenting for his consideration.

After some serious thought, Draco concluded that Hermione must have been testing the water to see what she could reel in. Neither of them could have foreseen their meeting in his coffee shop, or his fascination with her mind that had caused him to… pursue? (Who was pursuing whom, really?) Regardless, she had recognized something in him. Perhaps his voice, or his eyes, though they were partially obscured by his disguise… or was this a test of Draco Malfoy, not the Dragon?

Draco paused in his musings and sat up. It could be a shot in the dark, an improbable coincidence that Hermione had seized upon with her brilliant mind. _Or_ , it was a challenge for Draco Malfoy to see how good of a detective _he_ was.

Either way, Draco was going to have to choose what hand to play.

Glancing at the inked hand and the clean one, Draco wondered if he would take the bait.

…

He had no time for heists or flirtation that evening, though in a way his attendance at the gala was both. A midwinter ball held by the same charity, the necklace on display for all to see – and only 3 days before the auction on Christmas eve. Draco dressed in wine-red shirt, grey suit jacket and waistcoat, and black slacks, as handsome as ever… though he somewhat regretted not being able to wear his crown to the event.

Sweeping into the ballroom with the air of a wealthy Victorian matriarch, Draco sailed past the coat check and refreshments (pausing briefly to swipe some champagne) to view his intended prize once more. He hadn't seen it for nearly a week, after all.

It was as glorious as he remembered. Fingers tightening unconsciously around the stem of his champagne glass, gaze fixed greedily upon the prize, Draco nearly missed a light sound – a throat clearing, coming from a bit further down the velvet barrier between Draco and his necklace.

"Feeling a kinship?" came the dry voice, and Draco felt a smile twitch to his lips as he spotted Hermione, standing in an emerald green dress that rivaled the gem in the snake's mouth for colour.

"Well, we both look rather dashing, don't you think?" Draco replied, raising his champagne glass to Hermione. "On guard duty or just enjoying the sights?"

Her eyes flicked to the snake, then back to Draco.

"I know I am," Draco continued, though his eyes remained intent on Hermione, "It's very tempting. I could almost reach out and steal it away…"

That was dangerous ground, and something sparked in Hermione's eyes, something that made her step a little closer. Draco gave a wolfish grin and bowed to her, extending a hand and saying, "To that end… may I have this dance?"

Hermione made a little noise at that, pausing in her advance, and Draco felt rather proud of himself for rendering her speechless. They both looked back at the necklace at the same time, though perhaps for different reasons… though wouldn't it be amusing if a detective trying to protect the necklace coveted that very item? Draco rather liked the idea, and it turned his gaze even darker with pleasure.

She took his hand, and Draco's smile turned up a few notches. Hermione didn't blink, though, merely replied, "You're going to have to be far better than I think you are for you to steal anything around here," challenge clear in her tone.

Draco guided her to the dance floor with grace, pressing his hand into the small of her back with possessive pride before purring, "I won't disappoint," and leading them off into the first steps of the dance.

…

As they danced, Hermione did her absolute best to lead Draco into a trap.

"Did you answer my riddle, yet?" She asked coyly as Draco spun her with practiced grace, hand sliding into his as her words caressed his consciousness. Draco had prepared for this, however, and since he was feeling like a risk, he looked down at the curly-haired woman with a small smile.

"I did some research," Draco replied, noting that her lips quirked at the word 'research' and resisting a fond chuckle. "And it's either a telephone number for a consulate in South Korea…" Hermione's expression stilled into one of mild disappointment, but Draco continued. "Or… it's a serial number. "

Her head lifted, and Draco resisted the urge to pump his fist in victory. He executed a graceful lift instead, bringing Hermione into the air before returning her lightly to the ground.

"Oh?" she said politely, but Draco had been raised around high society mamas who said one thing and meant another, and could sense the excitement on her tongue. He leaned in closer, swaying them to the music, wanting to taste that excitement but settling for murmuring, "Yes, the serial number for a particular safe, which seems rather obvious, given your line of work. Are you getting me to do your work for you, love?"

Hermione laughed, a low and throaty sound that made pleasant traces up and down Draco's spine. "Well done," she replied, dodging the question. "And do you know why that specific safe is of interest?"

Flirting a dangerous line, Draco danced the two of them closer to the necklace, and bent Hermione back into a dip, following the line of her extended neck and musing that she would look lovely with the diamond snake coiled about her throat. Her eyes went to the necklace as well, and when he returned her to his embrace, her cheeks were flushed with pleasure.

"Always a surprise," Hermione murmured, though she didn't mean it at all.

…

It was Draco who posed the next question, once the two of them returned to Hermione's post. She had insisted that she was here to work, though Draco rather thought that _work_ clothes those were not… but he acquiesced, happy to spend time near the things he coveted the most at this moment.

"So," he drawled, taking a sip of more champagne and savouring it before he started to dance a dangerous line, "How does a gorgeous individual such as yourself protect … _that_ from potential thieves?"

Hermione, who had refused the champagne (though her cheeks were lit with flags of red, regardless), tilted her head at a dangerous angle, eyes sparking with interest. "I out-think them all," she drawled in reply, looking at Draco through veiled eyelashes as she rolled her neck and returned to her normal upright posture. The movement was languorous, deceptively so – Draco could see the sudden tightness in her shoulders, hardening of her gaze. He grinned, not bothering to hide it. There was a rush of adrenaline rolling through his veins, making him want to take their 'dance' to the next level.

"How can you out-think a thief if you've never stolen anything?" Draco wondered, still smiling, until Hermione's ducking head caught his gaze, a shark-like grin spreading across her features. "Oh, you _have_ ," he remarked, delighted, stepping in close. "What a _bad_ cop." His intonation was low and inviting, practically a purr, though it was slightly cut off by Hermione tossing her magnificent mane of hair and stomping one foot, sending waves of cinnamon and spice into his nose and an amused arch to his eyebrow.

"I haven't stolen anything," she objected, eyes rather less amused than his. "I'm just far more capable at covering all the angles than your average cat burglar."

Ah, he had her now. Pride goeth before a fall… Draco resisted the urge to crow in glee and stepped even closer, though she didn't stop him – just drew herself up to her full height and crossed her arms over her chest, eyebrow raised to unfathomable loftiness. "If you're so good," he challenged, "Then _show_ me."

The eyebrow didn't move. Draco read that as an invitation for him to elaborate, and spiked his final question onto the court. Now things would _really_ get interesting. "Tell me how you would steal… that."

Hermione's eyes followed his tilted head towards the necklace, riveting on the massive emerald in the snake's maw. And Draco could have _sworn_ , that in that moment, there was a smile on her face that exactly mirrored the snake's.

"Come home with me," Hermione stated – not a demand, but not a request, either – "And I'll tell you everything."

How could Draco resist?

…

Section in the Classifieds of _The Telegraph_ , sent the morning of December 22:

 _Dragon,_

 _Caught you._

…

 **A/N:**

 **Annddd… cue dramatic music!**

 **Yes, yes, I'm a terrible updater. I know. I have been rather distracted as of late! That being said, there are only a couple more chapters in this before it wraps up, and the next few should be pretty action-packed. I'll try to continue to amuse!**

 **Best,**

 **Isefyr**


	5. Cuffed

_**4**_

If the Dragon was caught, it of his own choosing, nothing more.

Draco woke in an apartment rather less sumptuous than his own, limbs tangled with Hermione's, and a large, satisfied smile gracing his aristocratic features. Rolling over in bed, he discovered that she was already awake, and watching him with her own amusement, hiding whatever she was thinking behind glittering eyes. Her dress and his suit were spread across the floor, and Draco followed the trail of their progress until his gaze returned to Hermione's, amusement apparent.

"You certainly don't disappoint," Hermione said, levering herself up in bed and bringing the sheet with her, so that Draco was forced to look up at her. Her eyes sparked. "So I won't either."

Draco made a pleased noise and sat up as Hermione slid out of bed, sashaying towards her bathroom with a distinct note of arrogance in her step. "By the way," she called, "Have you seen the paper this morning?"

The door shut, and Draco raised a brow, stretching before grabbing his pants and padding to the door to grab, presumably, the paper. Obviously, she wanted him to see something… but what was there to see? None of the articles were interesting – except one or two shots of the charity event, which they were calling the event of the season – and another, smaller piece about the upcoming auction in two days. But that wasn't what… ah.

In the classifieds was a small, three word ad, to which Draco let out a laugh. He raised his gaze to find Hermione silhouetted in the doorway, gaze intent on his face. "Very amusing," he told her, folding the paper neatly and standing, coming over to where she was framed between rooms. The challenge in her eyes was both ignored and answered by his lips, pressed ferociously to hers for a split second before he pulled away. His eyes lit with amusement. "Tell me, _Detective_ , are you just itching to use your handcuffs?"

Hermione looked distinctly unamused. "You're going to find out," she informed him, mouth thinning slightly.

"Later, Hermione," he told her, and when she sighed and propped one hand on her hip expectantly, tilting her face upwards, closed the distance between them once more.

…

They were both of them waiting for Draco to steal the necklace. Once he did, she could move on him – she had a warrant _waiting_. Once he did, he could also vanish… if he chose. It was for that moment that both of them were waiting, and thoughts of the necklace drove both of them further into their work.

It was at 24 hours until Christmas Eve that Draco set to work. He had all his gear ready, Dragon mask set across his face, eyes darkened, hair hidden…

He wasn't sure which he was looking forward to more – having the necklace in his hands, or seeing Hermione again. He was hungry for both.

Thus, in the small hours, 2 AM on Christmas Eve, Draco darted off into the night, ready to claim his prize.

…

After all the practice he'd done… _really_. Even with Hermione waiting, waiting for him to make a move, it was still child's play to enter the ventilation system and slowly but surely make his way towards the safe. They hadn't, still, put any sensors in the vents – he wasn't sure if that was arrogance or cleverness, something to lull him into complacency.

But there was no room for complacency tonight, nor for the smug, arrogant hunger that churned in his throat and chest, making his cheeks warm with _wanting_. He pushed it down, pulling the icy-calm mask of the Dragon over his features, as he dropped into the safe room and set about dismantling the alarms. He had a tool imported from Italy and another from a watchmaker in Marseilles, and it was the work of seconds before the alarms were off. He'd have about 4 minutes before the next shift of security noticed that they didn't respond to a routine check.

Four minutes for the safe. Draco slid to his knees in front of it, almost reverently, and pressed his hands to the front, taking a steadying breath before lowering the tempo of his breathing so that he could hear the safe.

The first two numbers were simple, easily done. He committed them to memory, glancing at his watch – 2 minutes. Then he pressed his ear closer and listened, spinning the dial carefully, each tick sending a shot through his nerves. He was so close. He was-

The door swung open and Draco almost purred in satisfaction at the sight. Not even the fake necklace, which was seated atop another secret catch, could dull his joy – he unlocked the drawer below with picks and pulled out the real thing, stroking it reverently before adding the final touch.

The change of security, enlightened as to the fact that there was someone in the safe room, burst in to discover an empty room – except for the small toy dragon seated smugly atop the safe.

…

Draco was in his bedroom, drinking a cocktail, tiara seated upon his blonde locks, when the police broke down his door.

Sipping it with the insouciant smugness of royalty, Draco watched as they went through his house with a fine-toothed comb. It was unnecessary – his safe was open, revealing all the treasures he'd plundered, and his tiara, seated on his brow, glittered in the low lights.

Detective Hermione Granger stalked over to his bed and removed the tiara herself, eyeing it with appreciation before reading him his rights and extending an expectant hand for his wrist.

"Can't wait for the handcuffs," he purred, giving her his wrist, eyes sparkling.

Her expression was mildly disappointed- as if she hadn't wanted him to be caught- and Hermione said nothing until one of the sergeants stopped her on the way out.

"The necklace isn't here," he told her, and Hermione whipped around to see Draco's wide, leonine grin, her eyes re-lighting with sparks. "Begging your pardon, but… it's like he was waiting for us."

"I wonder," Draco lilted as Hermione, expression blazing, tugged him out the door.

…

He got away with it, much to his eternal amusement. The treasures were all recovered, and Draco charmed the judicial system into giving him a lightened sentence – bargaining to help Scotland Yard solve other crimes and help improve security, much to the public's delight. After all, a cat burglar was so _romantic_ – why, Draco received more love letters during his trial than he had in his entire life. He even rather thought that one of them was from the prosecuting lawyer.

The necklace was never found, and Draco denied having ever stolen it.

Throughout the entire trial, Hermione's gaze burned holes between his shoulder blades, sending lightning up and down his spine if he even dared to move. When the 'sentence' was declared, she up and stalked out of the courtroom… but not before he caught sight of her expression.

It was ravenous.

…

Draco sauntered into his new 'office' the week after, holding a mug of coffee for Hermione in one hand (decorated with handcuffs) and a thermos for himself in the other. His suit and bearing were impeccable, though he rather missed his crown, and he slid into the office chair next to her with a challenging gaze.

"Good morning, Detective Granger," he purred.

"Where shall we start?"

 **FINIS.**


End file.
